Him and Her
by eahink95
Summary: A blogger by the name of Eliza Rein is coming to New York City where her biggest stalker is waiting for her. Will he get the courage to talk to her? Or will he continue creepily stalking her on the internet, with her looking the other way?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Him

"Dude, I'm telling you, she's the one!"

"In your dreams man." I push my way around the office.

"Come on, Jack. She's gotta be! How many girls do you know who would give a description like that about a guy like you, without having known you yet?" He got right up in my face. "Huh? How many?"

"None."

"That's right." He backed off. "I'm telling you, you have to go after her. She's the one."

"Look, Thomas, just because she can give an accurate description of me without having a clue who I am doesn't mean that I will like her, or that she will fit the description of what _I_ happen to be looking for. Has that occurred to you?" I get up and walk out.

"Yes, that thought had occurred to me!" he called after me as I went to get coffee.

Miss Eliza Rein was her name. She was a blogger, well known throughout New York for her snarky comments, gloomy and sarcastic sense of humor, and her ability to create the creepiest pictures with just a few questions. My dear friend Thomas is under the impression that she is the one for me. That she and I were made for each other, even though she doesn't even live in the same state as me. He said it was like a "Sleepless in Seattle" type thing. I think that's just nuts. Yes, I like her work, and I like the pictures she picks for her work to be displayed. But her? Who knows? She seems like a nice girl from the blogs she posts as her thought process, but I have no idea. For all I know she could be just like her blog: cute and frilly at first glance, but she might just be poison and spiders once you get reading.

Her first post ever was full of questions, haunting mystery and only about 2 pages long. Strange how something so small can leave such a mark. It left me scared to look at a train station and blink for almost a month. How she does it I don't know, but I am willing to bet her talent is a gift from God.

Yes, I believe in God. I'm just a simple paper-pusher in New York, hoping to make it big and someday rule the world just like everyone else. That girl is actually doing it. She's made a difference all over the country. I can see it. I have seen it in Thomas, in some of my friends around town. Even some of the coffee shops are talking about her. She's a great sensation. All because she was able to take what we know and see and understand, and present it in a way that we never could. She made what we understood but couldn't say, and say it in such a way that no one can avoid looking at it.

I've been Facebook stalking her. I want to know who this kid really is. I've looked through all her profile pictures, even tried to friend her. But she didn't respond. I'm sure she just friend's people she knows. I do too. It's such a mystery though, just how great she really is, or how great her profile makes her look. I wonder who she is in real life.

"Hello!" a hand is waving in my face. "Anyone home?" I hear a laugh as a face comes into focus. "You've been standing there for almost 5 minutes holding that coffee pot. You going to pour some, or are you just admiring the pretty crack in the wall?" Melissa grabs the pot from me, pours herself a cup and puts it back in my hand. She's used to my dozing off in here. Oh well.

I pour myself a cup, add 4 sugar cubes, a lot of creamer, and M&Ms, and then march back to my cubicle with Thomas grinning madly.

"Hey man, look at what she just posted!"

I can't hide my excitement as I sit right next to him, greedily reading what words the woman has said today.

"Some people have been pestering me to say something about myself in my blog. I'm here to say, 'What? My contact tab and basic description of myself aren't good enough for you?' But I suppose I must pamper the people who pay me to write this, since they do give me free range and all. So, here goes, my devoted readers. Very little ado about me.

"Some say I can't shut up, others say I need to speak more. I think we all talk far too much, and I just say most of what other people keep in their heads, out loud.

"Some say I am a dreamer, forever lost in another brilliant idea and completely incompetent as far as doing anything practical goes. To that I say, 'I'm making money, isn't that practical enough for you?' I make enough to live on, not so much that I turn greedy and I have to thank God for that.

"Which leads me to another statement about me. I'm a Christian. Yes, yes, I realize I just lost about half of my readers by just that statement, but oh well, it's true. I know a lot of bad labels come with the title, and I'm willing to live with that. I fight the labels, but frankly, some of them are very true. Yes, I like a rock band with good Christian lyrics, but for heaven's sake, that's not what Christianity is. Christians were "Christ Followers" and nothing more. They were His disciples and were not to be confused with anyone else. I believe it was the church in Ephesus that first coined the term, so we have them to blame. I am getting into a very messy can of worms I'm not going to open up right now, because I don't want to.

"I love rock and roll. Give me that old time rock and roll and I'm in a good mood. Power ballads are my favorites. Steve Taylor is my favorite artist and my favorite band changes from day to day.

"I can't stand drinking coffee. I can't even make it to where I like it. The same goes with Macaroni and Cheese. I'm not a very good cook, but that's fine because I live above a restaurant that I own, so all the food's on the house and I'm not taking care of burn marks on the ceiling for a week.

"Last, I'm a bookworm. I love books and the things that come from them end up here in the blog. There. Be happy."

"That's it. That's all?! That's hardly a description." I sat back, disgusted.

"You're the one stalking her all the time. You tell me, is all of that accurate?" Thomas had a loopy grin on his face.

"I didn't know any of this, besides that she was a Christian."

"There you go." He turned his hand, palm up towards me. "She can still surprise you."

"I have never met her!" I protested.

"Yeah, but you've been stalking her for what, 5 years now?"

"It's been 3, but yeah, I've been watching her for a long time."

"So this is good!" he laughed. "It's new information." He picked up today's paper, and flipped to a certain page. "There you go." He laughed again as he handed me the paper. "Your girl is coming to New York!"

I snatched it and tore through the words on the page. "You're joking." The title read, "Nationwide renowned blogger attends debate" and my heart nearly stopped.

"Hey man, you hear that?" Thomas had his head cocked as I looked up from the paper. "Coincidence that your song is playing?"

I cocked my head to listen to the radio that plays through the radio. "Every Breath You Take" by The Police was playing. It's always been my song related to Eliza. I watch her. "I'll be watching you" is one of the lines in the song. How true.

"I don't believe in coincidences, you know that."

He gave me a wicked grin. "Then go to that convention and go see her! Introduce yourself!"

I threw my hands up in the air. "Fine! But you are coming with me."

"Deal." And we shook on it.

Wonderful. I'm so excited!


	2. Chapter 2

"You want me to _**WHAT**_?!"

"It's just for a few days Eliza, calm down!"

"You want me, with my busy schedule, to just drop everything, catch a _flight_ to New York and sit at a debate and a convention afterward? A _**flight**_?! You know how I feel about heights!"

"Eliza, darling, it's just an expression. I'll have a taxi pick you up if you like, and drive you all the way from your sweet little home in Manitou and take you to New York."

"That sounds much better. You're buying right?"

"Of course!"

"Wonderful. When will the taxi be here?" I smile to myself.

"Tomorrow at 4 AM!" She laughed at me over the phone. "Or is that too soon?"

"Umm." I stuttered over myself. "F-four? In the, the morning?" I can't breathe. She was serious.

"Um, yeah! Is that good for you? Or are you not up that early?"

"I'm up. I'm so there. Um… yeah. 4 AM is totally fine. I'm good with that. I'll be ready. You do realize it's nearly 10 PM here, right?"

"Yep. I've got the taxi on speed dial, and they'll be there at 4 AM and ready for you!"

"Awesome. I've got the best agent in the world."

"I'm sorry? You're breaking up!" she shouted into the phone.

"I said, 'I've got the best agent in the world!'" I shouted into the phone.

"Still can't here you!" and now she's just messing with me.

"Good night Cassandra. You're awesome. I'll see you in New York?"

"Yep. I'll be at the taxi stand when you get here. Just be ready and bring a lot of pens. And a copy of your book would be good. Or 10. Yeah, bring 10 signed copies of your book for those producers I've got lined up."

"That's fantastic. See you in a few days!"

"Goodnight precious!"

"Goodnight missy!"

That's that. Oh joy. New York. I've always wanted to go to New York. How am I going to break this to my parents? Should I leave a note, or just wake them up that a business thing is happening in New York and I'm leaving at 4 in the morning? Yeah, better wake them up.

I march my way upstairs and knock on the door.

"Who is it?" My Dad's voice rings out from the other side.

"Eliza."

"Come in!" Mom's voice calls.

I open the door and walk in, closing it behind me.

"Cassandra called. She tells me that there is a debate and convention going on in New York that she has had me booked for next Friday. She's sent a taxi, and it will be here at 4 AM tomorrow." They both raised their eyebrows. "I know. She just decided to tell me this now, and I have no idea why, but that's what's going on. I thought I should tell you instead of just disappearing. So, I'm going to go pack. I'll be back right after the convention. I'll catch a taxi back. She's paying, and I'm grateful."

"Alright. Bring your can of mace with you." My mother said.

"Don't go anywhere after dark." Dad added.

"Don't go anywhere at all alone." Mom chimed in.

"Be safe."

"Be sure to pack extra pants, it's supposed to snow next weekend."

"Don't talk to strangers."

"Make us proud."

"I guess we'll be telling the pastor why you're not in the nursery this Sunday right?"

I nodded at Dad. "If you would please."

"Alright." Mother said again. "Goodbye. We love you, and we'll see you when you get back."

"You be careful, alright?" Dad said as I hugged him goodnight and goodbye.

"I will, I promise."

Great. Just great. I march my way down the stairs, hands in my pockets, thinking about everything that they said. Protective parents. I'm 25. I'm ready to get out of here.

I get to my room and start packing. It's already 10:30 PM. I'm so tired, but I have to get ready to go. I grab my favorite blue suitcase, squish pillow, blindfold and pillow, and just crash by the door with the alarm set. There's no point in going to bed, I'll just leave it messy if I don't just sleep on the floor. And I sleep better in the car anyway. It would have been nice if my agent, Cassandra, would have told me that I was going to New York a little sooner. But I have all that I need: clothes for over a week, my can of mace, my knives, my fleece blanket, pillow, squish pillow, and blindfold. I'll do fine.

I say a prayer just before I fall asleep, "What do you want me to do this for, God? What good will it do me? What do you have in store?" and I fall asleep right then and there, with no answer as of yet.


	3. Chapter 3

At long last! The day of the debate!

"So, what is it they are debating?" I ask as a grab my M&Ms from my pocket and rip them open.

"No one knows." Thomas steals a few of them from me. "I've never been to one of these debates before, but I hear that they're fantastic if you're a blogger. They've invited some of the most controversial writers from across the country to come and debate here in New York on a certain topic. Who knows what they may be?"

I haven't seen Miss Eliza yet, but I'm sure she's here.

"Hey, where's your girl?" Thomas elbows me. "I thought she was supposed to be here, and the paper said she was."

"Yeah, I know, but I don't see her."

There's a commotion from behind us as lots of people grab their cellphones and start taking pictures of someone who is hidden from my view.

"Maybe that's her."

"EXCUSE ME!" A loud powerful female voice rings out from in between all the people. "For glory's sake! You'd think I was a celebrity! Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to make it to the stage in one piece!" and Eliza Rein pushed her way through all of them.

"Wow." Thomas said. "That's Miss Rein?"

I know what he means. She's barely 5' 2" and for that voice to belong to her… it just _can't_ be. I mean, I'm not exactly tall, but she's at least 6 inches smaller than me! This girl can't possibly be the great Eliza Rein. She's supposed to be a very big and powerful blogger with a writing ability that could beat the president into changing his policy. It's not right. This girl couldn't knock over a feather in a windstorm!

"Maybe it's just her escort." Thomas says doubtfully. "There's a girl walking behind her, that could be her!" he pointed at the 5' 7" little girl that walked with a slight twitch in her mouth and her head bowed.

"No way man. That's not her. The strong and confident Eliza Rein wouldn't walk in like she'd been hit by a two-by-four on her way in." I waved him off and put a few more M&Ms in my mouth.

"Well, Jack, it looks like both of those girls are getting up on the stage, so either one of them could be." He laughed. "You're the one that's been stalking her all the time, don't you know what she looks like?"

"No. She never posts full pictures of herself. Just little bits and pieces, like here eye, or her mouth."

"Wow. She's gotta be really vain then!"

The host of this little debate, and the mediator as well, stood up in the front. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would just settle in, we will begin and hopefully get you out before lunch time." There was a soft laugh throughout the crowd. "First up we have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Dahl. Please step forward gentlemen."

Two older gentlemen stood up, and stepped up to their podiums.

"Since this is a debate for the sake of fun, and you are both writers, let's pick a simple topic. Which is a better writing utensil: a pen or a pencil?" the mediator got down and sat on the chair directly in front of the stage, looking up at the gentlemen.

They went back and forth, with Mr. Collins taking the side of the pencil, saying that mistakes could be corrected, and weren't permanent. Mr. Dahl stood on the side of the pen, stating that was exactly why a pen should be used and not a pencil. The point is to make writing timeless.

When their time was up, two women went up, and their topic was on which dogs were better than other dogs, and after them were several other pairs of people. Still no Eliza Rein.

Finally the last two people are up. It was the two women we were having trouble figuring out who they were.

"Last, but not least," the mediator stepped up again, "Mrs. Cindy Cauliflower and Miss Eliza Rein!"

Applause broke out and Mrs. Cauliflower stood and bowed, all 5' 2" of her. The 5' 7" girl stood, her mouth twitched on the right and she marched her way up to the podium.

"Yes, yes, thank you so much, quiet down now." The mediator waved his hands to quiet us down. "Miss Rein, since this holiday has just passed, I would like for you to take a more abstract subject. What is the purpose of Christmas?"

"You have asked the wrong question sir."

The whole room gasped, even Thomas did. No one corrects a mediator. "I beg your pardon?" he asked sharply.

"You have asked the wrong question." The room fell totally silent, if it wasn't before. "You are making the assumption that Christmas has a purpose, and what that might be. This is incorrect. Christmas has no purpose, but that which we attach to it."

Mrs. Cauliflower burst out laughing. "Of course Christmas has a purpose. For those that are religious, it is the celebration of Jesus' birth, and for those who it is not, it is the tradition of getting and giving gifts. Surely you know that."

"I am aware of how people celebrate the day, Mrs. Cauliflower. However, that his how they choose to spend the day. But for those who may have never heard of the day, it is simply December 25th. For those like me, it is a day celebrated with family and friends, how we show how much we like each other by giving gifts and scoring secrecy points. But Christmas in itself has no purpose, for it is a day, just like any other day. The sun does not know that it's Christmas, which is in actuality a pagan holiday we have decided to put a religious spin on."

"You make a lot of assumptions, Miss Rein, in your description."

"What is the tree for? What are the mistletoe for?" Miss Rein cut in, cocking her head and looking innocently at Mrs. Cauliflower. "What is the purpose of keeping poisonous plants around, such as mistletoe and poinsettias during this particular holiday? We as a country have taken this holiday and given it meaning to everyone in the country. Especially people here in New York."

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Cauliflower raised her eyebrows. "What about people in New York makes them set apart?"

"What sets them apart is that they are so big and loud, and unceasing in their consciousness. It is called 'The City that Never Sleeps' for a reason. That reason is that you are restless and are obsessed with the business world it seems." She folded her hands across the podium and raised the left side of her mouth in a snarl. "The business world seems to be the only thing that matters to you people. As if there is no other purpose in the world. The amount of money that changes hands in this city is more than any other in the entire country and no one makes any contribution to their friends and neighbors. It is as if no one cares a wit about anyone but themselves." She paused enough for breath and Mrs. Cauliflower cut in.

"I'm a native New Yorker, do you honestly think that I act like this?"

"Of course! I happen to read your blog on a regular basis and have paid a great deal of attention to your personal goals and have found them to be sincerely lacking in depth and ideals. Your goals are personal alone, and have nothing to do with any other creature in the world. I also happen to know that you attended 3 different hairstylists today, but that you styled your own hair this morning with your husband, hence the excess of hairpins and the extreme lack of hairspray. However, you attended _three_ of the hairstylists, and your hair has not changed. Excuse me, but it seems that you are cheating on your husband." She flew through the words without pausing for breath and without moving her body or her face, all but her mouth. "I am also well aware that your husband knows about it, but this news has somehow not made the local news, although you are not often monitored. There was also an ethics clause in the contract that all of the participants were to sign today, to ensure that no lawsuits would occur, and the truth would be able to be spoken, however, you have denied the part where you have only had one husband!" The room gasped again, even though her tone wasn't more than just conversational. "But we are far from the topic now, and our mediator hasn't told us our time is up, but I am more than certain it is, so I will be on my way."

With that she waltzed off the stage, marched her way through the crowd, who sat still watching her leave in stunned silence, and said just as she pushed the door open, "I'll leave you to your—" her mouth twitched in a cocky smile "—adoring reporters." A wicked glint came into her eyes and her mouth became a wicked and cruel smile, "After all, 'It's like I'm a celebrity!' right?" and she pushed her way out the door as reporters and everyone flew forward, pestering Mrs. Cauliflower with questions.

"Wow." Thomas said. "That went over well." He looked at me with the same shocked look as the one that was probably on my face. "And this is your renowned blogger?"

I looked at him, changing my look from one of shock to one of pride. "Yes. Yes that was my favorite and renowned blogger. And I'm going after her." I ran out of the room.

"Jack! Jack!" Thomas called after me.

"I can't let her leave!" I called over my shoulder. "No one else has the guts to say it!"


	4. Chapter 4

'Brilliant. Just brilliant.' I stormed my way to the taxi stand, dialing Cassandra as I stomped my way through the endless crowds.

"Hey, Cassandra. Have you heard?"

"Oh yeah. You've made the instant news, and reporters are flooding the television with Mrs. Cauliflower's endless stuttering. You've shut her up for good, I think! Well done!"

"I butchered the entire state, and the entire city. They're going to murder me! I'm going home." I say as I storm past another block, trying desperately to get air to breathe in this conflicting city.

"You may be right. No one still seems to be really happy with anything that you said, and your audience and popularity in New York just tanked. But you'll be glad to hear that just about everyone else in the country will be hearing about this, and that should hopefully balance the numbers."

"Wonderful." I say with a heavy sarcastic drawl. "I'm in a city full of enemies, without a leg to stand on, up a creek without a paddle, and that's the best news you can give me. I'm dead. Can you get me cash for the taxi home? I'm going home, and I'm almost to the building now."

"You're about at the taxi drive? Why? Why do you want to go home all of a sudden? No one will pay you much mind here. You haven't even met the producers or publishers I have lined up!"

"Cassandra, I appreciate your assistance, but I'm just going to get myself killed if I stay here for one minute more. I can't stand this place and after tonight, when the _world_ hears what I said, no one is going to want to pay me one ounce of attention. I shot my mouth off, against my better judgment, and I'm toast by my own toaster. I can't stay here. Let me go home." I try to keep the whiny little girl out of my voice.

"I'm sorry darling, I can't let you do that. Not until I have you meet the producers and publishers. There's only 5 of them, and the others seem to have picked up on what you said, and have decided they don't want to support you."

"Great. Fine. When do I meet these people?"

"In 2 hours. I'll text you the exact address, so you can put it in your phone and get there on time. You should probably wear a business suit and comb your hair first."

I sigh, looking for a way out of this. "Fine. I'll go back to the hotel and I'll meet you out front of the building you text me. Alright?"

"That would be great darling."

"Thanks Cassandra."

"You're welcome."

We said goodbye and I started my way back through the crowds and to the hotel, stomping angrily and keeping my hands 2 inches from my body, creating a bigger atmosphere around myself, and driving everyone away.

Finally, I made it to the hotel and marched my way up the stairs, taking them 2 at a time, and ignoring the elevator. Made it to my room without crying, and then collapsed on the bed as soon as I entered the room.

"Why do I have to be so stupid?" I cry aloud. "I hate being so stupid and observant! It makes no sense that I should be the one to do this! It's not fair!" I punch the pillow, trying desperately to get it together for the producers. I can't be an emotion mess for them!

I take a shower, dress for the meeting and march my way out into the street.

"Keep it together girl. You just make it through this meeting and then you can go home." I mutter under my breath.

I am terrible with directions and finally make it to the building, and I look around for Cassandra, my face clear of all expressions.

"Excuse me." A guy taps me on the shoulder. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Yeah. Cassandra Booker. You know her? I'm supposed to meet her here."

"Ah. Ms. Booker was here almost 20 minutes ago. She told me that I was to meet you here, Miss Rein and lead you to the conference room. Please, follow me."

I follow this guy through the building, up the elevator, and through a maze of hallways through until we get to a glass room where Cassandra is waiting for me. I remembered the books, thank goodness.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen." I say as I grab the books and start passing them around the room. "Forgive my lateness, I have very little ability to find my way to anywhere." A soft chuckle goes around the room.

"Now, if you would gentlemen, I am ready for your questions."

"Your stunt today. Was that planned?" one of them jumped all over the question. I put a very bemused look on my face.

"Yes, of course it was planned. Since, you know, I was so very prepared for the Christmas subject, and the cruel and egotistical behavior of Mrs. Cauliflower." I wipe my face clean again. "Of course I didn't prepare it. I went flying by the seat of my pants, and I'm very sorry for what I said. My typed words are much more elegant and less dangerous than those that come out of my mouth."

Many of them started muttering around the room.

"Are there any questions about my book, and not about what happened today?"

One hand raised.

"Yes?" I pointed with two fingers at him.

"Will you be posting this as a kind of story on your blog?"

"No. I will not. There is no reason to."

"I think the public deserves to hear about this. They will want to know why you said what you said." One of them said.

"Sir, I will say that the public does not need to hear anything about this. They must decide for themselves what to believe. I refuse to tell them. It's unnecessary."

"Unnecessary? Nay, Miss Rein, I believe it is very necessary. Especially if you are expecting us to publish this book of yours." He held it up to add to his point.

"I am. I am asking you to do this, and many of you will read the book and hate it, I am sure. But it will be published. I am asking for you to help the economy by publishing it and taking a piece for yourselves. But I will not force you to take your bit if that is not what you want. Excuse me for trying to make you money." I tried not to sound so snide.

"Eliza!" Cassandra said in horror.

"Forgive me gentlemen, but it has been quite a long day and I'm sure that I'm in culture shock. You have already picked up on my accent, I am sure. Yes, I'm not from around here, I don't know your customs, and the way I am supposed to behave and or speak, but I will do all in my power to prove via my book that I am a great writer. I'm going to publish it no matter what you say, so you might as well take your cut while you have the chance. No matter what I say." I have really done it this time. So, I head for the door, just as I always do when I've said my piece and they can't stop me. "Good day gentlemen. Make up your minds, why don't you." And I leave that room and don't stop walking until I reach the bus station.

"One ticket to Colorado Springs, Colorado, please." I say to the man behind the desk.

"Is that all for you miss?"

"Yep. Get me home."

"Alright miss. We have a bus leaving for Denver in 40 minutes. You want to wait?"

"Yes. I'll wait."

I take my ticket, and dash back to the hotel, grab my suitcase, which I had already packed, and dash back with 20 minutes to spare.

I sit down on a bench and wait for my bus. A man sits down next to me and smiles at me.

"Hey." He says.

"Hi." I say. I am _so_ not in the mood to talk to anyone.

"I'm Jack. Jack MacPherson. And you are obnoxious." I glare at him.

"Gee, thanks." I say, shaking the hand that was offered. "I'm Eliza Rein."

He smiles even bigger at me. "I know. I read your blog, and was at the debate today. I was very disappointed that you left."

"Sorry. I have that habit. I say something stupid and run away. It's my favorite way of coping."

"I'm sorry. I wish you would have stayed to see the chaos you created." He shrugged. "I didn't stick around though, and I've spent all day trying to track you down. Then it's all over the news what happened at the debate, and that you had a fall out with your publishers shortly after. I figured that someone with that much bad luck would be trying to go home."

"You're annoying." I say with a bite in my voice. "I want to go home and will in the next 20 minutes. I'm leaving and I will not return." I cross my arms. "I have no reason to."

"You don't like New York?"

I raise an eyebrow at him like he's stupid. "Were you not at the debate today?"

"Yes, I was."

"Then you should know that I thoroughly despise the behaviors of the people of New York. The city itself is fine." I say with the same powerful clip I always have in my voice.

"I see." He nods and shuts up. Good glory, who is this guy? "I'm sorry. I'm a big fan of yours. I heard you were going to write a book and haven't gotten it published."

"Yeah, I'm going to get it published. It would seem that a few of my… publishers don't want their cut, but whatever. I'll self-publish if I have to."

"Can I see it?" he asked as if he were a small child asking to see a magic trick.

"Yeah, sure." I reach into my bag and hand him one of my signed copies. "I have a strong feeling that very few people will like it, but whatever." I shrug it off and keep waiting for my bus. 10 minutes.

He's reading it like he'd never seen a book before, and was fascinated by the concept. He was just sitting there reading my book in front of me, and greedily consuming every word. Who the heck is this guy?

"I'm sorry. You say you read my blog." I venture with 8 minutes until my bus arrives. "How well do you follow it?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm your biggest fan in all New York. I have read everything you post, every week, exactly when you post it. I can't possibly get enough of it. The extreme diversity of your work is just fascinating. I've never met someone who could say what no one else will with such … elegance."

"Elegance?" I try not to laugh. "What on earth is elegant about my work? I'm cruel and biting at the very least."

"Which is what is so elegant. You say so smoothly the most cruel and biting remarks about the people that no one else will."

"You are out of your mind." I say and turn away, trying desperately not to count the seconds until my bus arrives.

"You are a remarkable woman." He says quietly. "I've followed you religiously for years and I just…"

"You just are so happy to meet me at long last, and find that I'm just as obnoxious in person as I am on the blog. Yeah, be happy." I say with a sarcastic twang.

"I am happy. But that's not the reason why." He paused.

"I gave you my book that not even the publishers have read yet. Yeah, yeah. Whatever." I cross my arms then check my watch again. 6 minutes.

"No." he smiled. "It's because you're so impressive. And because you were able to give a perfect description of me, without ever meeting me, in your blog."

"You have got to be kidding me." I look at the sky and send God a prayer.

'God, what on earth are You doing?! I can't get in a relationship right now! Especially not with this nasally sounding New Yorker. Especially not since I just butchered my chances of making the big time today! HELP!'

"I am quite intrigued. Is that man you described your husband, or just what you would like your husband to be?" he asks me with his head cocked.

I sigh. "Look. You seem to be a nice guy, but I'm going home." I check my watch again. "I'm going home in about 4 minutes and I don't ever want to return. I don't have time for a relationship and I have no idea who you are, other than my stalker. I'm pleased that I have at least one fan still in New York after I messed up, but I don't care to get entangled in a relationship. I'm trying to rule the world right now and it's not going so well. So, you can ask all the questions that you like, but I'm leaving. I wish you good day, and farewell." And I get up and walk to the counter.

"Excuse me." The man behind it looks at me. "When is the bus to Colorado going to arrive?"

"What's the number?" he asks.

"2685." I say, tension rising in my voice.

"Oh. Miss, there's been a terrible storm out there. I've been told that none of our busses headed out will be leaving for the next week. The route is just too treacherous."

"What are you saying?" I'm trying to keep it together, keeping my voice as level as I can.

"Hand me your ticket and I'll give you your money back. You're not leaving on bus 2685 today. No one is leaving the state today, not even if you're going to Maine or Florida. The state of New York is locked up."


	5. Chapter 5

Great. Just great. I totally blew it with my idol. What's Thomas going to say? I stand with my hand in my pocket, and the book in my other hand. She totally blew me off and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I overhear a few people headed out with me. "That's right! No one in, no one out. New York is on its own! We're on lockdown! We can travel around the state, but the snow is so bad, that there is no route out. The cold from Canada is coming down…" and I run off, back inside, not hearing any more.

"Miss Eliza!" I call out as I see her sit on her suitcase, practically in tears. "Would you mind having a drink with me?"

She starts laughing. "A drink?" she laughs. "A drink?! You're not much of a stalker if you don't know that I don't drink."

"It's an expression quite common out here. You want coffee? Hot chocolate? Alcohol? Tea?" I try not to sound desperate. "You know, since no one is leaving the state."

She throws up her hands. "What the heck?! This is His way of punishing me; I might as well enjoy it. Lead the way Mr. MacPherson."

I offer her my arm and we walk out like a couple, her leading her suitcase.

I'm in heaven.

She told me she had to run by the hotel so we do that first. She dashes up the stairs, ignoring the fact that there is an elevator, and made it back downstairs with a different outfit and hairstyle in no less than 10 minutes.

"Okay!" she claps her hands. "So, what does one drink when one is a native to New York?"

"One typically will drink coffee, but this fella doesn't." she looked at me quizzically. "I typically drink water." The side of her mouth twitched in an almost smile.

"Awesome." Was all she had to say on the matter, at least until I ventured a question.

"What do you like to drink?"

"Chocolate." She says with an eyebrow raised, as if she expected me to know that already. "You're a pretty poor stalker if you don't know what I drink."

"I guess not." She fell in suspicious silence until I lead her to my favorite spot with a mess of drink ideas. It's a little café just down the street from Wall Street, so there's typically a lot of traffic through here.

"Hey Jack!" Thomas was sitting at our usual booth and noticed the lady Eliza Rein on my arm. "Who do we have here?" he waved us over. She slipped into the corner, with no one on her left and me boxing her in on the right.

"You know who she is, Thomas. This is Lady Eliza Rein." I gesture with my left hand to her. She still hasn't let go of my arm and her hand is only getting tighter.

"A pleasure to meet you, lovely lady." He held out his hand for her to shake.

She releases my arm, grabs his hand, and he suddenly kisses it.

Her eyes narrow and she freezes. The whole room freezes for us, as if everyone is waiting for her reaction.

"You're just as beautiful as they say." He says smoothly.

She tilts her head up and wipes all emotion from her face, taking her hand back and putting it in her lap.

"You are just the same as a hundred others who have lowered themselves to your level, and dared to kiss my hand to honor me." The right side of her mouth twitch in a bemused smile. "And you have dreamed to honor me, by dishonoring yourself and losing points with me." She gives a cruel laugh and turns to me.

"This is the kind of creature you call your friend?" she raises her eyebrows swiftly once before removing all emotion again.

"Umm… umm… well… I guess…?" is all I can say right now.

"HA!" she is trapped in the corner, so she can't run, but I pray she doesn't speak again. I know what her words can do.

"If you like, we can leave." I venture, sending a glare at Thomas, who looks like he's just been slapped.

"I would _love_ to leave." She snarls. "But it would seem that New York is snow trapped! A bloody island in a world of snow and ice that has me trapped here with you!" she could now be heard by the next few tables.

"Jack." A voice comes from over my shoulder. It's Timothy, our favorite waiter. "Can you ask your lady friend to keep her voice down?" he looks down to his shoes.

She looks at him. "Do you know me?" she says with a blank expression.

Without looking up he says, "Yes. I know you very well Miss Rein."

She holds out her hand, sitting up on her knees as swift as a rabbit. "Then say hello properly and I'll leave."

He looks at her hand, then up at her face. She gives him a full-on, full of teeth smile. He gives her hand a swift shake and then dashes back behind the counter. "Don't leave!" he calls over his shoulder.

She sits down with a mildly amused expression on her face.

"So you're not insulted by him?" Thomas asks, insulted himself.

"Not at all. He has a firm handshake, knew who I was, yet didn't make a big deal about it. He held himself with grace and dignity." She tosses her head, causing her perfectly straight hair to come falling out of the pins in some places. Such beauty. "You simply ducked below me, hoping I'd be impressed."

Timothy came straight back, holding three drinks. "Water for Jack, Protein Uh-Oh for Thomas, and for the lady…" he handed her a very dark liquid. "M&M hot chocolate."

Well, this is a surprise. I guess she wasn't kidding.

"Thank you sir." She bowed her head in his direction, and reached for the mug, slipping something into his hand as she does it. "I appreciate it."

"Of course." He bows to us, and dashes back to the kitchen.

Thomas looks at her face intently, seriously wounded about how she was treating the waiter. "You're actually going to drink that?"

Her lip curls into a wicked snarl and her eyes light with fire. "Do you have to crush my temporary happiness?" she growled under her breath.

Good gracious, I thought, how many voices does this girl have?

She takes a big gulp of that rich stuff and closes her eyes, smiling at the sheer wonderful taste of the drink, though I'm sure she's still not pleased about the company she's keeping.


	6. Chapter 6

Mint M&Ms. Gosh, how did that guy know?

How can I not be happy at the sheer awesomeness of this liquid? I taste dashes of milk, water, even a bit of heavy whipping cream. But what is the major taste? Chocolate. As if someone melted down every M&M in the world, and put it in this drink. I'm in heaven.

"I take it that this business doesn't have any branches in Colorado?" I ask Jake.

"Not that I know of. Marcus is the guy that runs this place, and Timothy is our favorite waiter. He doesn't get paid anything what he should for what he puts up with."

I look in the direction of the waiter. "Timothy…" I say thoughtfully.

And the cruel monstrosity in front of me is still looking at me as if I were drinking my own vomit. I think that Protein whatever he's drinking looks more like vomit than this sheer heaven I'm drinking.

"What?" I snap at him.

"How can you stand that? Isn't it too rich?"

"Rich?" I look at him like he's nuts. "You're too rich! You have spent your life thinking you are above everyone. Excuse me, but I am far above you. Always have been, for you began by kissing my hand, when you deserve to kiss my foot." I flash my eyes at him. I've been told that when I flash my eyes, I can stop time or kill people. "So, do me a favor and shut up. I didn't come to spend time with you, for you were not at the bus station with me. Jack was." I look at Jack fiercely. "You've trapped me now and I'm losing my patience."

He nods at me and rises, offering me his hand. I've finished the mug of heaven and I'm ready to get out of the death pit with the devil across the table. I get up, taking his hand and walk up to the counter. A man in the kitchen notices me and comes out.

"Are you Marcus?" I ask politely.

"I am." He smiles at me. He's a large black man with too many teeth, but a friendly, well-bred disposition. "You are Miss Eliza Rein. Something of a celebrity around here."

"Thank you. I'm aware." I grab a couple of the books that I have signed and hand them to him. "Here. I don't have any cash on me at the moment, but will these do?"

He smiles even more brightly at me. "Of course! Your presence at the conference and giving that woman a run for her money is enough for me, but this is something special."

"Wonderful." I sweep into a bow and march my way through the door, not caring if Jack follows me or not. I'm going to find Cassandra.

He followed me. Yay.

I dial my phone.

"Cassandra. Yeah. I can't leave, but you knew that."

"Darling, calm down. You can head back to the hotel. No problem. I'll keep up the cash flow, I mean, it's not like you'll never go home. Don't worry so much. You'll be fine."

"You are out of your bloody mind. I just had a drink with that stalker you were telling me about last month."

"You drink? Wait, the stalker guy?"

"YES!" I say exasperated and sad. "I met him at the bus station and I want out of here, but I can't. Stay with me, won't you?"

I hear a whisper behind me from Jack. "Yes."

"I can't darling. You know I can't. I have plans that I've had for months, and three other clients I have to take care of. The city doesn't sleep and neither do I. I know I'm your agent, but I'm the agent to other people as well. You'll be fine. Ta-ta, I love you."

I'm about to cry.

"I love you too…" I end the call. Stone face comes back on and I turn on him.

"Well." I put my hands on my hips. "I guess you're stuck with me." I turn around and march myself back to the hotel. "Be happy."

I'm sure he's just about to bust with sheer glee at being stuck with his idol. Hooray for me.


	7. Chapter 7

When she turned around and said, "Well. I guess you're stuck with me. Be happy." I thought she was about to hit me. It's obvious that this beautiful woman really prefers to be left alone. Maybe it's just that she's in New York, or maybe this is normal for people in Colorado, but I bet it's not healthy. She's so alone. No one even came to New York with her.

Anyway, we are headed back to the hotel, with her leading and stomping around like a spoiled child.

'Who is this woman?' I pray to God. 'What on earth is she doing here? Why have You stopped her from going home, when that's all she wants to do?'

I don't get an answer immediately, but find us at the hotel. She marches and leads me to the lounge and she finds a small corner with two chairs and a table between them.

"Sit. Stay. I'll be right back with my knitting. I'm sure you're going to want to talk, huh?"

I nod, but she has already turned her back and made a dash for the stairs.

She comes back in about 15 minutes, with a giant tote bag on her shoulder, a different hairstyle and her slippers.

She plopped down in the chair opposite me, pulled out some blue needles and black yarn.

"Alright. Knock yourself out. Ask me some questions."

I can't help but smile. This girl is so… blunt.

"The first story you ever posted."

She nodded. "Spinning Wheel."

"That's the one. What possessed you to write that? What made you think of taking a villain such as Maleficent and turn her into a good guy? What about her character made you think she was just misunderstood?"

"Of all the …" she looked very surprised, but regained composure pretty quickly. "Maleficent was the kind of character that people would pay attention to, just because she was a sorcerer, or rather a sorceress. She's not someone you just assume is dead, just so you don't have to ask her to a party. And what could she gain from cursing a baby? What good would that do? But more than that, why a spinning wheel of all things? Why not an ax or a crossbow?"

Good questions. Wow, her mind must be more active than a frightened rabbit.

"So, I was just exploring how I would feel if I was all that and someone didn't invite me to a party, and their excuse was that I was dead. Seriously? A sorceress gets presumed dead because she doesn't show up at a beck and call, but ignore her… and your kid is toast. That's all I wanted to say. Why? What did you think of it?"

"Well, I thought that your approach to the spinning wheel was a little… off the map. I mean, it's not a weapon, as you said, but she also had an edge for humiliation. That would mean, since they got rid of all but one spinning wheel, that they wouldn't have any yarn or thread, and they would have to import all of the cloth and fabric they wore, making the economy of her country better. That was just…" I'm so amazed at it, I make an explosion with my hands. "Blew my mind." I smile. "No one else would have thought of that, but it makes so much sense!"

She nods at me. "That's what I'm good at. Everyone's thinking it, but I'm the only one with the guts to say it."

"It's awesome." 'Holy cow, am I actually sitting here with this amazing woman?' "I think there should be more people like you."

Her face turns to stone. "I don't."

Uh oh. What did I just say? "What do you mean, you don't?"

"I don't think there should be more people like me. I'm unique. If there were more like me, I wouldn't be unique. It's obnoxious. I'm glad there's only one of me. Do I wish that there were more people with morals like mine? Yes. Do I wish that some people thought more like me in the logical sense? Yes. But do I think there should me more like me? No."

Her fingers are flying over the needles and she is watching my face intently. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. That makes total sense. I'm sorry. I'll try to watch what I say and say exactly what I mean."

"That would be most appreciated." She looked down at what she was doing and said, "Next question."

I went through with lots of questions about her work and then got into a few questions about her drinking habits. Turns out that she only drinks coffee when she's highly stressed and can't even taste chocolate. She's a chocoholic, in that she is highly addicted to the stuff. That M&M hot chocolate she had at the café was her daily fix. M&Ms are her favorite, but she takes hers in the mint or peanut kind, where I prefer the dark or milk chocolate kind. We talked for hours and hours on all kinds of subjects, even to the point of getting to religion.

"So, when you said earlier today that 'this is His way of punishing me, I might as well enjoy it' you were talking about God, right?"

"Yeah. He has a nasty habit of punishing me, and not letting me have my way. He knows what it does to me when I get my way." She smiled. "It makes me depend on Him less, and I don't usually like what I asked for. So He doesn't let me have my way. For whatever reason…" she got a wistful look and glanced around the room. "He wants me to stay here in New York, even after I messed everything up. Probably a lesson in, 'you can't run from your problems' or something like that."

"Does He teach you lessons like that a lot?"

"Yeah. All the time it seems like. I can't do anything good enough, or bad enough, to get Him to stop teaching me lessons. All the time, patience, self-control, peace, and lots of others. I've not gotten them all down yet, but He keeps teaching me!" she shakes her head. "It's annoying sometimes, but I know what He wants sooner or later."

I try to keep myself very calm for her sake, trying not to venture too close to a sensitive subject that might make her run. But I'm about to bounce of my seat I'm so excited. She's exactly what I've been spending my whole life looking for.

"And as far as marriage is concerned… you don't have a ring?" I ask trying not to sound presumptuous.

She glared at me, and got up. "That topic is between me, my dad, and God. The end. It's late and I'm going to bed." She swung the tote over her left shoulder and stood quite straight as she held out her hand. "Goodbye. Thank you for today."

"No, no. Thank you! I had a wonderful time. I had no idea… and the debate was fantastic." She groaned.

"The debate was a disaster. Don't think it's anything but one of my ultimate failures in self-control." She sighed, and I shook her hand with both hands.

"It's going to be okay. Can I call on you tomorrow night and we can talk some more?"

She turned her face to stone again. "I don't think so. You seem to only want one thing, and that thing is for my father to decide. I don't even know you." And she turned to leave, but not before I grabbed her hand.

"Please. Tomorrow, there's a kind of ball in a place downtown. Would you join me? It's really old fashioned, if you wanted to dress up… some of us are."

She looked at me, with no change in expression. "Let go of me." She growled. "Yes. I think that would be fine. I don't have anything else to do." I let go and she relaxed. "When are you going to pick me up?"

"Does 6 sound good?"

"Excellent. I go to bed about 10 o'clock every night." She turned around. "See ya!" She waved without looking back.

Wow… what a woman!

I get home and march my way straight into bed. For the first night in weeks, I don't have dreams.


End file.
